XVI.

Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head; 1040 The war-horse masterless is on the earth,[kt][284] And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth; And near, yet quivering with what life remained, The heel that urged him and the hand that reined; And some too near that rolling torrent lie,[ku] Whose waters mock the lip of those that die; That panting thirst which scorches in the breath Of those that die the soldier's fiery death, In vain impels the burning mouth to crave One drop--the last--to cool it for the grave; 1050 With feeble and convulsive effort swept, Their limbs along the crimsoned turf have crept; The faint remains of life such struggles waste, But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste: They feel its freshness, and almost partake-- Why pause? No further thirst have they to slake-- It is unquenched, and yet they feel it not; It was an agony--but now forgot!